


A Country Cousin

by cupnsaucer



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: M/M, You've been warned, belaboured attempt at period appropriate speech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupnsaucer/pseuds/cupnsaucer
Summary: trying to decide if I should write another chapter
Relationships: Mercutio/Benvolio Montague
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	A Country Cousin

“Mercutio! Hist, hist! Mercutio!”

Mercutio turned to look from where he was chatting up some Capulet country cousin to see Benvolio half hiding behind a pillar. He smiled charmingly at her and said something about more wine or ale or something.

“What? Art thou mad?” He hissed once he reached the younger man’s hiding place.

“Nay, not mad but Tybalt, Prince of Cats, is about…” Benvolio trailed off.

He was still shaken from his encounter with the infamous dueller as demonstrated by the way he was compulsively adjusting his mask to cover as much of his face as it could. Mercutio shook his head at the younger man, he was fond of him but sometimes the young country noble could be too much.

“Thou art sporting a mask,” he said as if speaking to a young child. “Tybalt knows not that thou art here. Therefore, stop thy womanish fretting!”

Benvolio chewed on his bottom lip worriedly and, though he could not see it, Mercutio knew his eyebrows were knit together in concern. Mercutio sighed heavily and ducked behind the pillar with the younger man.

“Thou worriest too much, calm thyself. I cannot soothe thy frazzled nerves at every moment. Thou must take heart in the fact Tybalt did not best thee in thy duel.” He refrained from adding because his uncle Montague stepped in to protect him.

“Nay, he did not.” Benvolio said with what Mercutio thought was more confidence.

“So there, have thyself a cup of wine and dance some.”

“Ay!” Benvolio said with definitely more cheer.

Mercutio clapped him on the back and watched as he started off towards the drinks. Catastrophe averted, he thought, mentally shaking his own hand and patting himself on the back. 

Benvolio seized a cup of ale and tossed it back before grabbing another. Feeling quite a bit better - Mercutio could always do that to him - he didn’t realize someone had sidled up beside him.

“I have not had the pleasure of thy introduction.” A sleek voice fairly purred in his ear.

Benvolio started and nearly slopped the whole contents of his cup over his doublet.

“Sir-” He started but his voice caught in his throat when he turned towards the stranger.

Tybalt was leaning against the wall, mask hanging from around his neck, quite obviously severely inebriated.

“Tybalt,” he offered a hand to the startled Montague. “And thou art… a cousin of mine? From the country perhaps? It is so very difficult to keep track of all the country Capulets.”

A cousin from the country, certainly, Benvolio thought, but not thine. For lack of something to say he reached out to shake Tybalt’s hand.

Tybalt pulled Benvolio towards him and breathed into his ear, reeking of alcohol, “Perhaps thou art in need of someone to show thou around Verona?”

Then, to Benvolio’s immense shock, there was a wet suction on his neck.

“Wha- what art thou-?” He couldn’t even form a proper question.

From out of nowhere an enraged Mercutio arrived, pulling Benvolio roughly away from the Capulet.

“Why, Mercutio!” Tybalt looked dishevelled and unabashed.

“Tybalt.” Mercutio ground out from behind gritted teeth, angling himself between Tybalt and a still shaken Benvolio.

“Where havest thou been hiding him? Surely this is not thy brother Valentine?” He tried to peer behind Mercutio to get a better look at the young man he was hiding. “Surely Valentine is not yet twelve, much younger than this youth.”

“Nay, not my brother Valentine,” Mercutio’s voice was frosty. “A cousin. From the south.” He clarified when Tybalt looked sceptical.

“From the south…” Tybalt echoed, taking a step to try to get around Mercutio, who took a step to intercept him.

The two nobles stared at each other, their gazes locked and conferring an unspoken message. Tybalt looked away first, shooting Benvolio a wink and making a loose bow to Mercutio, he left in search of more sport. Mercutio watched him until he was swallowed up by the crowd.

“Mercutio…?” Benvolio asked hesitantly.

Mercutio shook himself a little and turned to face a worried Benvolio who was once again mauling his bottom lip.

“Art thou a’right?” He asked urgently, placing his hands on Benvolio’s shoulders and checking him for signs of… who knew what.

“Ay, ay…” He trailed off but Mercutio gave him a probing look and he sighed. “Except… Tybalt… he…” Benvolio couldn’t continue and rubbed self-consciously at his neck.

“ ‘Volio…” Mercutio sighed himself, how was he going to explain this. “Some men prefer the… company… of other men.”

Mercutio was proud of that delicate explanation but one look at Benvolio’s face told him that the younger man didn’t understand.

“Instead of women.” He clarified and saw a flash of understanding in Benvolio’s eyes. “Is that not… done? In Bologna?”

“Well… yes, but no, no it is not….” Benvolio looked like he wanted to ask more.

“You may ask if there is more thou wish’t to know.” Mercutio hid a fond smile at the other man’s naivety.

“Well… just… is it… normal? Do many men do it?” the poor boy was blushing hard beneath his mask. “… dost–” He swallowed hard. “Dost thou?”

Mercutio was nonplussed.

“That is to say, thou dost not need to say-” Benvolio hastened to correct his apparent mistake.

“Nay, nay,” Mercutio soothed the boy who was frantic to make amends. “It doth not offend, thou worriest again without cause.” He hoped that would earn him a smile, but no such luck. “It is quite alright, I was only surprised, that is all.”

“Thou dost not need to say,” Benvolio said again. “I am too curious for my own good.”

He couldn’t even make eye contact with Mercutio and was starring rather fixedly at a loose thread on the taller man’s doublet.

“Tisn’t something that is spoken of in company, but I believe that many ‘a noble hath partaken in… this.”

Benvolio took this to be a subtle ‘ay’ and he didn’t know what to think about it. It wasn’t something that was done in Bologna, he knew Verona was a big city and things were bound to be different. He was expecting things to be more sophisticated, more rich and extravagant, and Verona was those things… except for this. It seemed so base, Benvolio didn’t have a good idea of how… it… would be done between two men. To be honest, Benvolio didn’t exactly know how it was done between a man and a woman. He’d heard (and sung) the bawdy tunes one could find in any ale house, but they didn’t provide much practical information. His mother had kept him close before his father sent him to learn more about the world before he married his betrothed. Benvolio suspected that his father expected him to, uh, learn these things before he was married. Mercutio actually had tried to take him to a brothel with Romeo one night but he had balked for an unknown reason. The whole idea made him uneasy and he had faked illness to get out of it.

“Benvolio?” He snapped out of his thoughts, Mercutio was calling him and looking a little wary.

“Ay?” He gifted his friend with a smile and Mercutio smiled readily back.

“Come,” Mercutio slung an arm over Benvolio’s shoulders. “Let us find some refreshment.”

Uncounted cups and goblets and tankards of wine and ale and mead later, Benvolio and Mercutio were sitting, drunk, on a back stair of the Capulet mansion.

“I must find Romeo.” Benvolio managed to stand, a little unsteadily.

“Nay, nay! More wine!” Mercutio called, reaching for his friend who stumbled out of his grasp, into a pillar and almost collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“Nay! Romeo!” Benvolio laughed, slipping past a curtain into the hall and the sounds of the party.

Mercutio sighed and dropped his head into his hands. What was he doing? Benvolio’s naivety turned him on beyond belief and he was now torturing himself with the idea that he had seen a curious spark in the younger man’s eye. Did Benvolio want to experiment? Did he want Mercutio to make a move?

“God’s balls.” Mercutio groaned to himself and rubbed his hands roughly through his hair.

Benvolio stumbled out from behind the curtain slipping his mask back on and ended up running straight into a Capulet servant. Apologizing profusely and getting away as quickly and gracefully as his inebriated state would allow. Weaving through the guests, avoiding Tybalt, the Prince and Mercutio’s brother Valentine (it wouldn’t do to have them know he had over indulged in the wine), Benvolio finally spotted his cousin. Immediately he recognized Romeo’s pining face and spotted the girl Romeo had asked about earlier in the night. He sighed and came up behind the melancholy Italian to clap a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Away, be gone, the sport is at the best!” Benvolio slurred a little, drawing his cousin away from the crowd with an arm around his waist.

“Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone! We had a trifling foolish banquet towards.”

Benvolio’s hand flew automatically to his mask to ensure it was on straight, glad he had replaced it when he left Mercutio. Lord Capulet had stepped in front of them, a little inebriated himself. Benvolio gave a helpless shrug and made to go around the wavering noble.

“Is it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all! I thank you, honest gentlemen, goodnight.”

Romeo and Benvolio could here Lord Capulet calling for torches and bed, bidding goodnight to the other guests as they made their way back to the alcove Benvolio had left Mercutio in.

“I love her!” Romeo declared.

Benvolio thought maybe Romeo had over indulged in the ale as well.

“As thou loved Rosaline.”

“Ay! I mean, nay!” Romeo turned to his cousin angrily. “My heart has not truly loved till this night! I love her.” He said firmly.

Benvolio decided to leave it, it wasn’t worth hearing Romeo wax poetic again. Luckily for him they had reached the curtain that led to Mercutio.

“Stay awhile cuz, I shall fetch Mercutio.”

Benvolio pushed back the curtain to find his friend reclining on the bottom steps, right where he had left him. At the sound of an intrusion Mercutio cracked on eye open, upon recognizing Benvolio he broke into a wide grin.

“Finally, thou returnst!” 

“I found Romeo and it is far past time for us to have been gone.” Benvolio helped an unsteady Mercutio to his feet.

“Cry 'Havoc' and let slip the dogs of war!” Mercutio yelled, gesturing wildly for Benvolio to go forward.

“Romeo?” Benvolio called as they navigated the curtain with a little difficulty. “My cousin Romeo? Romeo!”

He could just see a blue hosed leg disappearing through the doors, so he dropped Mercutio’s arm and bolted after his fleeing cousin.

“Romeo!”

Mercutio caught up with him peering worriedly into the trees.

“He is wise, and on my word has stolen him home to bed!”

“Nay! He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall.” Benvolio insisted. “Call, good Mercutio!”

“Nay I’ll conjure too! Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!” Mercutio dropped to one knee to address the wall passionately. “Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied; cry but ‘ay me,’ pronounce, but ‘love’ and ‘dove,’ speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, one nickname for her purblind son and heir. Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so true when King Cophetua loved the beggar maid-”

Mercutio delighted in the sound of Benvolio’s involuntary giggles and played it up even more, dropping his outstretched arm and his head in defeat.

“He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not, the ape is dead,” He sprung to his feet with sudden renewed energy. “And I must conjure him! I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, by her high forehead and her scarlet lip!”

Mercutio looked around and saw Benvolio leaning against a tree, drunk and chuckling. He was at the stage of drunkenness where he felt he needed to hear Benvolio laugh properly again so he seized the unsuspecting man’s foot.

“By her fine foot,” Mercutio worked his hand up Benvolio’s leg, “straight leg, and quivering thigh,” here he paused to look into Benvolio’s eyes, trying to read what he found there, “and the demesnes that there adjacent lie…” he trailed off staring hungrily at the younger man.

“An if he hear thee,” Benvolio’s voice was breathy and uncertain. “Thou wilt anger him.”

Mercutio looked like he was going to say something but lost his nerve and dropped Benvolio’s leg instead and backed away, once again addressing the wall.

“This cannot anger him! ‘Twould anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjured it down.” Mercutio was too busy trying to cover up his embarrassment at misreading Benvolio’s level of intoxication that he missed the thoughts flickering across the other nobleman’s face. “That were some spite. My invocation is fair and honest, in his mistress’ name I conjure only but to raise up him!”

He was also surprised to feel a warm hand on his shoulder and hear Benvolio’s voice, husky and heavy with meaning, “Come, he hath hid himself among these trees to be consorted with the humorous night. Blind is his love and best befits the dark.”

Mercutio cocked his head to the side with a small smirk, then started backing the other man up against the wall.

“If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit as maids call medlars when they laugh alone.” His hands were roaming Benvolio’s body freely now, watching as the other man arched his back and tried to quiet his heavy breathing. “Oh Romeo, that she were, o that she were an open-arse, thou a pop’rin’ pear.”

Benvolio’s knees seemed to give way when Mercutio’s tongue suddenly invaded his mouth. They both dropped to their knees, still pressed up against each other and Mercutio pulled away and smirked.

“Romeo, goodnight,” He called into the dark as he helped Benvolio to his feet, “I’ll to my truckle bed; this field bed is too cold for me to sleep.” He paused to kiss Benvolio again. “Come, shall we go?”

Benvolio stumbled a little when he stepped back, both from the alcohol and Mercutio’s kisses, “Go then, for ‘tis in vain to seek him here that means not to be found.”

Mercutio grinned like that was exactly what he wanted to hear and drew Benvolio back onto the road and slipped an arm around his waist, appearing to be supporting the smaller man, but really just to enjoying the feel him close to his body. Once on their stumbling way back to Mercutio’s house, Benvolio stopped and tried to continue what they had started in the woods, only to have Mercutio stop him abruptly and look up and down the road, before smiling and saying in a husky whisper: “not here.”

**Author's Note:**

> trying to decide if I should write another chapter


End file.
